


In the Eye of the Beholder

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [32]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time to inaugurate that new bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Athos is _scandalized_ , if only a little. He’s known Porthos for long enough after all. He knows him in all his moods - angry and sad and joyous … he most certainly has seen him flirt before, has seen that dark glitter in his eyes and known what it meant for its recipient. Still, this feels different. Different, because it has never been directed at Athos before. Athos has never heard that tone of voice and _felt_ the promise underlying the words. His skin has never become more sensitive in reaction to a smile.

And what a smile it is. Porthos’ eyes are crinkling at the corners, while his dimples carve deep into his cheeks, giving him the look of an innocent little boy. Something he is most decidedly not. Quite the opposite in fact. Athos doesn’t know if he should be mortified or annoyed at his reaction to being treated in this manner - but he does know that Porthos is a menace of the highest order and should be taught a lesson.

He exchanges a glance with Aramis over the dinner table and realizes that Aramis will not be of any help in the execution of that ambition. He might have known. Aramis’ pupils are blown wide to the point that he looks drunk, and in the brief moment that their eyes meet his flush descends down towards his chest - and to the rest of his body, if Athos is any judge.

Not that he is. Athos is as much a judge of Aramis’ blushing stages as Porthos is an innocent little boy.

“You don’t mind Athos watchin’ us, do you kitten,” Porthos says then, as if he wants to prove Athos’ point for him. “You like the idea, don’t you?”

He doesn’t quite purr the words, but he certainly adds sufficient gravel to his voice to supply a few stretches of road. Athos doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him. What he does know is that he wouldn’t embarrass Aramis for the world. So Athos clears his throat and sits up in his chair and tries to look like Porthos’ lewd suggestion doesn’t affect him at all.

“You do not have to answer him, Aramis,” he says quietly. “He is merely trying to rile you up.”

“Well, it’s workin’,” Porthos argues, smiling even wider than before. “Look at him. He’s gettin’ all squirmy.”

At that Athos puts down his fork and levels a stern glare at Porthos. “Stop it.”

“For your sake or for his?” Porthos asks, sounding quite harmless and concerned all of a sudden. “Because if you’re tryin’ to protect him -”

“I can speak for myself,” Aramis unexpectedly adds his mite to the conversation. He’s still blushing furiously, still looking drunk, and his voice sounds a little breathy. “If Athos doesn’t want to watch us - he - he - he doesn’t have to.”

Just like that Porthos is smiling again. Victoriously. He even winks at Athos. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Indeed, Athos does. The revelation only adds to his own arousal, as unexpected as it is. Just hearing them through that crack in the door was so very stimulating that he’s almost afraid what will happen to him when he’s actually in the room with them, watching them have sex. A tiny part of his brain is afraid that he will find it repulsive, that _watching_ it happen will finally bring him back to the point where he finds sexual intimacy nothing but uncomfortable. Thankfully the more prominent part of his brain is far too busy being … horny. He cannot call it anything but that. Just seeing Aramis in his current state is enticing. The way he curls his fingers around his fork, the way he opens and closes his lips around it while being so obviously aroused … it has an effect on Athos.

Aramis is the only one who ever made him feel this way. Porthos makes Athos feel many very wonderful things … but not _this_. It’s almost a form of possessiveness, coupled with care. Athos can’t explain it. It must be because Aramis is vulnerable in a way Porthos isn’t - in a way Porthos never was.

Which is evidenced by the way Porthos is grinning at him now. “You still haven’t answered us, love.”

Athos comes back to himself at that, blinks, and clears his throat. “Do I really have to make a comment?”

“Oh, most certainly,” Porthos says promptly. “Consent is important, you know.”

Athos cannot argue with that - nor can he resist the warm glow in Porthos’ eyes.

“How could I refuse when you are looking at me like that,” he drawls, betraying his tumultuous pulse by only the slightest tremble in his voice.

Porthos’ expression softens considerably. “If you’d rather just listen again, we can do that, too.”

“Again?” Aramis asks, roused to gasping curiosity. He hastily puts down his fork. “What do you mean - again?”

His wide-eyed gaze flicks back and forth between Athos and Porthos, makes Athos go hot all over, just like that - because of the memory of that night … because Aramis doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say - how to explain himself. So of course Porthos does it for him. In the most outrageously nonchalant manner possible.

“Remember when you were so indignant cause I brought you Athos while you were all naked and happy that one time after sex?” he says, clearing the last bites from his plate. “We’d kinda forgotten to close the door for that one, so Athos heard us. Liked it a lot, too - didn’t you, Athos?”

Why Athos is stupid enough to look at Aramis after that he has no idea. It must be a misguided cry for help. He always thought that _getting lost in someone’s eyes_ was just an expression; but he most certainly loses himself in the way Aramis is gazing at him … very nearly drowns even. It is Porthos who throws him a lifeline - both of them.

“Lemme clear the table. You two can go ahead and take over the bathroom. I’ll be along right away.”

He gets up while he speaks, all helpful industriousness, as if he wasn’t the one who caused all this by being an obnoxious Don Juan … by being his usual, wonderful self, a little too forthright, entirely without shame or reluctance. Athos loves him so much. Porthos smiles when he takes his plate from him, presents him with the tiniest little wink, and Athos finds himself smiling back, takes a deep breath - takes the plunge.

“Do you want to come to the bathroom with me, Aramis?”

“Yes,” Aramis replies, his voice as soft as it is eager. “I would love that.”


	2. Chapter 2

To say that they spend much time in the bathroom would be a lie. Aramis does his best to hide it, but his impatience is quite as obvious to Athos as his arousal; so he rushes through his routine, watching Aramis from the corner of his eye all the while.

They finish almost simultaneously, and by that time Athos is too eager himself to find it remarkable that he is the one stepping forward - that he is the one pulling Aramis in and against his chest. Aramis comes willingly, puts his arms around Athos’ neck and looks at him out of soft, trusting eyes. There’s no reserve or doubt in his gaze - there’s nothing but adoration and the deepest affection.

“I want to kiss you,” Athos tells him, stroking his hands over Aramis’ back, and Aramis smiles, presses a little closer to him.

“Please do.”

So they kiss, gentle and careful at first, and then, when Athos realizes how much Aramis is holding back for him, he opens his lips and licks into Aramis’ mouth. Aramis’ reaction is instant. He moans and clings to Athos, starts to tremble under his hands. Having him react so strongly to such comparatively little stimulation makes Athos feel weightless for a moment - makes him grab Aramis’ hips in an effort to keep them both steady.

Of course that is the precise moment Porthos decides to join them in the bathroom. Athos senses him step up beside them, feels his warmth at his right side, his hand on his shoulder - feels immediately grounded.

“Easy now,” Porthos says into his ear, voice low and fond. “No reason to rush into it like this.”

He kisses Athos’ cheek, and then Aramis’, gently pulls them apart. “Let me show you how, eh?”

Athos nods. So Porthos kisses Aramis, licks into his mouth just like Athos had, but more slowly. He puts his arm around Aramis and holds him tight - but he’s also holding Athos, is keeping him close … kisses Aramis just long enough to make him go soft and pliant, and then he pulls back, smiles at Aramis … looks at Athos. “Now you?”

“Yes,” Athos whispers, unable to resist that tone of voice - the smile in Porthos’ eyes. So Porthos leans in to kiss him, too, presses their mouths together and brushes his tongue over Athos’ lips before pushing in to taste him. He’s careful and tender, gives Athos just enough to make him yearn for more.

By the time he pulls back Athos’ pulse is elevated and he’s breathing hard - and Porthos is chuckling. “You’re almost as bad as Aramis.”

His voice moves through Athos like a living thing, and Athos doesn’t know what to say in reply, can only watch in stupefied speechlessness while Aramis takes his revenge on Porthos by attaching himself to his neck like a lovelorn vampire. Porthos tilts his head to give him better access, smirks at Athos and makes him tingle all over.

“I’m gonna feel that one for days,” he whispers, audibly pleased, and Athos very nearly shivers. Mostly because he knows that Porthos’ revenge will render Aramis utterly weak with pleasure. Quite probably for days.

Athos clears his throat, tries to focus. Porthos and Aramis are making it rather difficult.

“You two should go ahead to the bedroom,” Porthos murmurs, stroking his hands over both Athos’ and Aramis’ backs. “Get comfortable.”

He kisses their cheeks and lets go of them, and Athos takes Aramis’ hand without conscious thought, leads him out into the hallway. Aramis follows him for a few steps, and then he reverses their roles - takes the lead. His hand is warm in Athos,’ and Athos can’t help looking down at it, at those long, slender fingers. He wants to sketch them, suddenly, wants to put them on canvas and paint them. They could only be more beautiful if they were intertwined with Porthos’.

They always look so good together, Aramis and Porthos - even more so than they do apart. They set off each other’s good points, both in looks and in character. Maybe that’s why Athos can’t resist them … why he wants them both. He watches Aramis open the door to the bedroom, follows him inside still holding his hand. Porthos’ voice echoes in his head, telling him to get comfortable, but he still pulls Aramis into his arms, kisses him again.

Because he wants to. Because it feels good.

This time around he manages to remain a little calmer, doesn’t fall headfirst into it like he did in the bathroom. His reward is an almost overwhelming awareness of the way Aramis feels in his arms - of his weight and warmth, of his taste, his smell. It’s similar to the hyper awareness of his previous sexual encounters, but only similar. This is not uncomfortable in the least. It’s safe … and arousing. Aramis is hard against him, keeps pushing his hips forward ever so lightly while they kiss. He moans into Athos’ mouth and licks the answering sighs off his lips, feels so good in Athos’ arms that he cannot imagine ever letting go of him.

They kiss until Porthos joins them once more - continue to do so when they hear him laugh, when he puts his arms around the both of them again. “Incorrigible, eh?”

That finally induces Athos to break the kiss. “If we are,” he says with as much dignity as he can muster under the circumstances, “you have no-one but yourself to blame. You know perfectly well that you caused this - that you did it on purpose.”

His voice is rough and he slurs the words a little, feels drunk - drunk with pleasure. He’s stupid with lust, and he _likes_ it.

“Course I did,” Porthos agrees easily. He lets his hand slide onto Aramis’ ass, gives it a good squeeze and makes him moan. “Are you complainin’?”

“You know I am not,” Athos murmurs, glancing at the floor in favour of meeting his or Aramis’ gaze. “I was merely putting things into perspective.”

“Yeah, you’re good at that,” Porthos smiles, leaning in for a kiss to Athos’ cheek. “Do you wanna keep making out with Aramis now, or help me get him naked - or watch me get him naked?”

This time Athos really does shiver. It has been so long since he was purposefully naked with someone that the idea still holds something of its old dread … but then again this is Porthos and Aramis.

“I think I want to help you,” Athos hears himself say, his voice quite steady. “If Aramis doesn’t mind.”

Porthos chuckles again. “He might bust out of his smallclothes all by himself just for hearin’ you say that - isn’t that right, kitten?”

Aramis makes a weak noise and nods, rubs himself against Athos helplessly, eyes wide and pleading. Whatever else may happen, Athos knows that he is loved, and wanted - that he is safe. All of them are.


	3. Chapter 3

Undressing Aramis feels like unwrapping a present. The kind of present where the shape and weight of the box tell you precisely what’s inside, but that only makes it better. It’s something you really like, something you’ve wanted for a long time; now that it’s here and you have it under your hands the anticipation is almost too sweet to bear.

The room is warm and the lights are low, and the attachment is already fixed to the bed. It is one big comfortable space, almost three meters wide, offering the three of them sufficient room for whatever they want to do. It certainly offers Athos enough space to pull back a little and watch Porthos take care of Aramis once they’re ready to go horizontal.

For now they’re standing at the foot of the bed. Aramis is smiling at Athos, ever so slightly; his chest is rising and falling under rapid breaths of excitement, and he keeps perfectly still when Athos unbuttons his shirt. The flannel is soft under Athos’ fingers and a smile dawns in his eyes when he belatedly recognizes it as one of Porthos’. It seems Aramis is becoming just as adept at stealing his clothes as Athos … loves wearing them just as much. They will have to buy him new shirts and hoodies sooner rather than later.

“You two are very pretty,” Porthos comments from the sidelines, doesn’t seem to mind the theft of his shirt - or doesn’t want to comment on it under the circumstances. Maybe he’s satisfied with watching Aramis being stripped out of it. He’s standing behind Aramis, both hands on his hips, not moving an inch. He neither tells Athos what to do nor does he do anything to stoke Aramis’ arousal, at least for now. All he does is watch.

The feeling of his eyes on him gives Athos a taste of what it’s like … gives him an idea of what Aramis is experiencing right now. Aramis, who is always so sensitive, who is so easily aroused, so ready to be seduced. If it feels this intense for Athos, Aramis must be burning up from the inside.

So Athos takes care to be gentle when he strokes the shirt off Aramis’ chest, all but caresses it off his shoulders. Aramis’ skin is smooth and warm under his hands, and Athos longs to touch more of him - longs to make him feel good … to witness him reach his climax. The thought makes Athos bite his lip, and he takes a step closer to unbutton Aramis’ pants.

Aramis first holds his breath and then moans when Athos pulls down the zipper. It is a helpless noise, sounds as if it was wrought from Aramis half against his will … as if Aramis is fighting for control when all he wants to do is let go. It gives Athos a sense of responsibility he doesn’t know he’s ready for. He has no experience worth mentioning; Aramis might need more than he can give. The thought gives Athos pause, dulls the sharp edge of lust that’s cutting at his higher brain functions.

Then Porthos moves. From the corner of his eye Athos can see him stepping closer to Aramis from behind, sees him steady Aramis with both hands, and somehow that helps, makes everything so much easier. Porthos is here. They’re safe. Nothing can go wrong.

Athos gives in. Aramis’ cock is a hard line underneath the fabric of his pants; it feels warm under Athos’ fingertips, and he cannot help himself - he strokes up and down its length, enjoys how it twitches under his touch.

“You’re bein’ a tease, love,” Porthos tells him. His head is right next to Aramis’, cheek to cheek, and he’s smiling that delightfully sinful smile of his, eyes dark and approving. “Isn’t that right, kitten?”

Aramis nods weakly. His eyes are unfocused, the iris almost completely swallowed by the pupil; his mouth is slack, lips parted in breathless apprehension.

“Mhm, the things I’m gonna do to you …” Porthos whispers into his ear, brushes a kiss to its shell. “But first Athos has to get you naked for me ...” He chuckles. “I think he wants to look at you some more.”

Aramis whimpers and presses back into him, rubs his ass against Porthos’ groin. He’s coming undone right before Athos’ eyes … is pulling Athos with him as he drowns. Athos doesn’t fight it. The water is warm and Porthos is there to keep them both afloat. So he reaches out to stroke his hand over Aramis’ naked chest, tries the effect of teasing one hardened nipple.

Aramis chokes out a moan and bares his throat, drops his head back onto Porthos’ shoulder. Athos bites his lip again and meets Porthos’ gaze. He doesn’t know if he’s looking for approval or guidance. What he finds is a smile.

“You’re doin’ good,” Porthos tells him in a soft voice. “With Aramis you can do no wrong. Isn’t that right kitten?”

“Feels really good,” Aramis whispers in reply. He’s looking at Athos from underneath his lashes, cheeks flushed. “You have such beautiful hands.”

His words send sparks of heat down Athos’ spine, and his touch becomes a little more secure. He strokes both palms over Aramis’ skin, frames his ribcage and strokes down … down and down until he reaches Aramis’ hips. “Do you want me to take those off now?”

Aramis nods immediately. His manner is very nearly desperate, and Athos realizes that his arousal must be painful as confined as it is. Thus he pushes Aramis’ pants off his hips, crouches down to pull the tight fabric off his thighs and calves, lets him step out of it. When he looks straight ahead he’s on eye-level with Aramis’ cock in tight white briefs. Precome has soaked the fabric and made it very nearly transparent … leaves very little to the imagination. Athos swallows dryly and stands back up, looks at Porthos again.

“Want me to take over?” Porthos asks, an understanding smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, please do,” Athos whispers, trying not to sound overwhelmed.

Porthos smiles a little wider. “Give him another kiss then, and we can move this party to the bed.”

They fall into the kiss without holding back, clinging to each other, breathing the other’s air. Athos has never kissed anyone the way he is kissing Aramis now, sloppy and almost greedy, enjoying every moment. He’s almost as aroused as Aramis, can feel Aramis’ cock through the layers separating them, and it feels so good, tastes so good. Aramis belongs to him and he belongs to Aramis, and the knowledge of Porthos being there, of Porthos _watching_ them and liking what he sees makes it as perfect as it is ever going to get.


	4. Chapter 4

Porthos takes off his hoodie in one fluid movement, pulls it over his head and lets it drop to the floor. His curls are tousled and his eyes are dark with promise, and when he steps in front of Aramis to pull him close, Aramis puts his arms around him as if he was his only salvation. Athos bites his lip watching them, absent-mindedly unbuttons his own shirt, takes it off to let it join Porthos’ hoodie on the floor. The air feels cool on his heated skin, and he rubs his palm over his arm and up to his shoulder, very nearly shivers under his own touch. He’s not generally a sensitive person, has never gone hot under a previous lover’s touch, but Athos thinks that if Aramis or Porthos were to caress him now it would affect him in the extreme.

He’s almost glad that he’s allowed to keep his distance for now, that all he has to do is watch. So he watches Porthos look down into Aramis eyes, watches him smile and pull Aramis closer.

“Hold on to me, kitten,” Porthos says, the command softened by the affection in his voice; and Aramis obeys, puts his arms around Porthos’ neck and clings to him - spreads his legs and wraps them around Porthos’ hips when he lifts him up. His thin white briefs look obscene on him as Porthos carries him to the bed, soaked with precome, his hard cock peeking up over the waistband. Porthos doesn’t seem to mind, puts him down onto the bed with gentle determination, pushes him onto his back and tells him not to move.

Aramis promptly goes boneless, and Athos wonders how often they’ve done this before, how often Porthos has taken on the role of loving sovereign and Aramis enjoyed the freedom of submissiveness. It must be nice - giving in like this. It certainly looks nice, and absolutely safe. Athos feels drawn to it, moves closer to the bed without conscious choice. He watches Porthos open and push down his jeans, can see the greedy glitter in Aramis’ eyes as they roam over Porthos’ body.

Athos stops moving then, his gaze flicking back and forth between Aramis’ face and Porthos’ naked back. The sight of Porthos’ broad shoulders is suddenly impressive in a way previously unknown to Athos, makes Athos feel small and helpless in comparison … not necessarily in a bad way. The realization leads to a sudden spike of tension in the room, and then Porthos turns his head and looks at Athos - allays all of his doubts with a single smile. “I’m gonna get naked now, alright?”

Athos can only nod. Porthos’ smile brightens as his hands move to his hips; he pushes down his shorts, lets them fall unheeded, gets onto the bed. Athos feels breathless for a moment, as if something heavy was sitting on his chest; but then Porthos leans over Aramis to kiss him, so tender and loving, and the weight shifts, dissipates.

“You’re lookin’ very appealin’ like this, kitten,” Porthos whispers to Aramis, moves to lie at his right side - gives Athos an unrivalled view of the scene they represent. He puts his hand on Aramis’ belly, strokes it soothingly for a moment. Aramis relaxes under his touch and closes his eyes, and Porthos smiles, satisfied … moves his hand lower, teases Aramis’ leaking cock with one fingertip. Athos doesn’t wonder at it that it makes Aramis shudder and moan, very nearly shivers himself. His nipples are hard and sensitive, and the confinement of his pants is becoming uncomfortable, so he opens them, hands shaky, fingers clumsy.

Lust has never felt like this to Athos, has never affected his faculties to the point that it became difficult to think, and when Porthos tells Aramis to push up his hips, it’s not just Aramis’ knees that are shaking. Athos is starting to feel weak, and he fumbles out of his pants, out of his shorts, and sits down at the side of the bed, too lost in the moment to feel ashamed or even awkward.

Porthos has freed Aramis of his briefs in the meantime, has laid him bare for Athos to see. He’s stroking his hand over Aramis’ belly again, moves it up to his chest, brushes his thumb over a hardened nipple … makes Aramis spread his legs by doing so.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, kitten,” he murmurs, voice low and intimate. His eyes are on Aramis, follow the trail of his fingers over his flushed skin, down to his straining cock. “Do you want Athos to see you come? Give him somethin’ really good to watch before I start openin’ you up?”

Aramis’ eyes glaze over at the suggestion and his cock twitches, and Athos very nearly trembles with sudden arousal. His nipples harden to the point of pain, and he bites his lip in an effort to stay silent - to remain in the role of mute observer.

“You like that idea, eh?” Porthos whispers, the corners of his mouth pulling up in satisfaction. “Come on then … give Athos a little show … let him hear how much you like it.”

Aramis whimpers Porthos’ name and spreads his legs wide, pushes up his hips. His skin is flushed, looks almost golden in them dim light, and when Porthos closes his hand around his leaking cock, Aramis moans loud enough to give Athos goosebumps.

“Yeah, just like that,” Porthos murmurs, moving his hand up and down, momentarily distracting Athos from the vision that is Aramis in this state. Athos has seen Porthos naked quite a number of times, but he has never seen him aroused before, has never seen him hard and curving up to his belly. The sight would once more be intimidating if this wasn’t _Porthos_ , gentle, sweet, caring Porthos. Coupled with the memories of their friendship seeing Porthos like this makes Athos feel strangely calm - as if Porthos was showing him this part of himself to reassure Athos, to make him understand that he’s just as vulnerable and human as everyone else … if somewhat bigger.

Athos is finding it difficult not to stare. Of course Porthos notices, winks at him when Athos finally manages to tear his gaze away, makes Athos blush to the very roots of his hair.

“I think Athos enjoys seein’ us naked,” Porthos informs Aramis in a low, dirty voice that causes Athos’ blush to spread all the way down his chest. Aramis shivers and turns his head, looks at Athos for the first time since Porthos picked him up and carried him to the bed. His gaze feels like a living touch on Athos’ heated, over-sensitive skin, irresistibly pulls Athos in with its helpless intensity.

“You do?” Aramis asks, slurring the words ever so slightly, sounding so very hopeful, so very _happy_ that it hits Athos through and through.

“Yes, Aramis, I do,” he whispers, keeping perfectly still when Aramis’ gaze drops down, when Aramis takes in the state of Athos’ own arousal and gasps, adorably surprised.

Porthos chuckles. “Told you, didn’t I?” He leans in to brush a kiss to Aramis’ temple, rubs his thumb over the tip of Aramis’ cock. “See how much he enjoys the sight of you?”

Aramis bites his lip and nods, the expression on his face one of ecstasy mingled with bliss.

“He’s pretty like this, isn’t he Aramis?” Porthos whispers into his ear, letting go of Aramis’ cock to reach down and between his legs to fondle his balls. “You’re both so very pretty … all mine to play with … all mine to take care of and make you feel good."

He brushes his finger over Aramis’ hole and presses down, and Aramis’ mouth falls open; a drawn-out moan tumbles over his lips as his muscles tense and he comes all over Porthos’ hand and his own chest. Athos has never seen anything like it.


	5. Chapter 5

Aramis’ chest is rising and falling in rapid succession, and he looks so very detached from this world that Athos is briefly concerned for his well-being. Then Aramis groans and throws his arm over his face, doesn’t quite manage to hide his radiant smile. “God, Porthos, you’re _awful_.”

His voice is unsteady and breathless, even a little rough; he’s covered in his own come, and his spent cock looks oddly vulnerable. Athos stares at it for a little longer than is probably seemly and does his very best not to call it a love nozzle in his own mind. He fails, naturally. They have corrupted him, body and soul.

“Very awful, that’s me,” Porthos agrees in the meantime, the picture of meek acceptance. He reaches out to get a tissue from the box on the nightstand, trying to control the corners of his mouth in an effort not to grin. “It’s one of the many things you love about me.”

He wipes off the mess on Aramis’ belly and chest, cleans up his hand and disposes of the tissue, strokes his fingertip over Aramis’ left nipple. “Come on, kitten, let me look at you.”

Aramis obediently removes his arm to smile up at Porthos, and Porthos smiles back, leans in to give him a kiss. Athos feels blessed, being allowed to watch this, to be in their presence and witness their affection. He’s feeling warm all over, inside out, warm with devotion and arousal and gratitude. He’s not surprised when, instead of allowing him a reprieve, Porthos continues to caress Aramis, when he fondles him and strokes his hand all over Aramis’ torso, obviously acquainted with all of Aramis’ sensitive spots. In return Aramis makes pleased noises into their kiss, spreads his legs and pulls Porthos between them. He arches his back and puts his arms around Porthos’ neck, buries his hands in Porthos’ curls.

They are close enough for Athos to touch, but he keeps his hands to himself, contents himself with watching. It’s all he wants to do for now - it’s already more than enough to render him quite helpless with desire. With Porthos on top, Athos’ view of Aramis is somewhat restricted, but it’s not like Porthos isn’t worth looking at. He has a magnificent physique, with broad shoulders and narrow hips and a very attractive distribution of muscles. Athos is mesmerized by the movement of those muscles in Porthos’ back as he holds himself up over Aramis. The soft light in the room illuminates them almost artistically, sets them into relief as if Porthos was hewn from marble by the hand of a master. Athos cannot wonder at it when Aramis loses himself under his touch, when he gives himself over to Porthos to do with him as he pleases. There’s just no reason not to. Porthos is so very gentle with him.

Aramis is rather exhausted after his orgasm; he’s completely relaxed under Porthos’ hands, wonderfully responsive, and when Porthos breaks their kiss to brush his lips over Aramis’ cheek and down to his neck, he sighs in bliss, closes his eyes and spreads out on the sheets as if he was made to be loved by Porthos. Athos watches attentively as Porthos’ mouth travels downwards on Aramis’ body, as it grazes a nipple and licks it just to make Aramis shiver and moan. The display makes it difficult for Athos to ignore his own body’s needs, the way it mirrors Aramis’ reactions. It’s almost as if Athos can feel Porthos’ touch through Aramis, as if they were connected in a way Athos doesn’t quite understand.

His hands are resting on his thighs; the fingers relaxed and slightly curled inwards - but now and again they twitch, desperate to touch and hold, to be held. Part of him wants to join them, when the rest of him does not; so Athos keeps still, stays where he is and watches as Porthos comes to kneel between Aramis’ legs, as he drags his mouth over Aramis’ sensitive skin and makes him arch his back, makes him claw his fingers into the bedding to have something to hold on to - something to tether him to reality.

Porthos takes his time, kisses and licks and bites Aramis’ flushed skin until Aramis’ cock shows renewed interest in the proceedings. When he notices Porthos chuckles, rubs both thumbs over the curved indentations where Aramis’ hips meet his torso. “Ready for more, are you?”

Instead of answering him Aramis turns his head and looks at Athos, eyes dark and longing. He doesn’t say anything - doesn’t have to say anything. There’s so much gratitude in his gaze, a silent gratefulness for Athos’ presence … for Athos’ acceptance and support. Aramis once thanked Athos for letting him be with Porthos, and Athos thinks that he might be doing that again right now. It would be so very _Aramis_ to hold firm in his conviction that he could not be part of their lives - could not be with Porthos - if Athos had not let him.

Athos doesn’t know if he’s right or wrong in that conviction, what he does know is that he loves Aramis more than he could ever express. So he smiles and reaches out his hand, waits for Aramis to do the same.

It takes Aramis a moment to comprehend the meaning of the gesture, but then his face lights up and he takes Athos’ hand into his own, links their fingers. It might just be the most intimate touch Athos has ever been submitted to. Porthos sits up on his knees when he sees, looks down at them out of soft brown eyes. “You’re just too much, sometimes - you know that?”

Athos tears his gaze away from Aramis to look at Porthos instead … smiles. “Too much of what?”

“Everythin’,” Porthos replies, his voice rough. He keeps quite still for a moment, as if he doesn’t want to break the spell.

When he finally moves to cover their hands with his own, his touch makes Athos shiver. They are both so warm, both so obviously aroused, and yet they do not ask him to do anything. They are happy to let him watch - are happy to let him do whatever feels best for him. There is nothing selfish in the way they touch him.

“I love you,” Athos hears himself say, his voice unsteady with emotion, “very much indeed.”

“We know,” Porthos whispers back, and then he moves, leans over until he can give Athos a kiss. “We love you, too - just as much.”

“Maybe more,” Aramis murmurs, looking up at them with shining eyes.

Porthos chuckles. “It’s not a competition, kitten.”

Aramis grins then, as naughty as Athos has ever seen him. “I know,” he says. “But if it was, I would totally win.”

“ _Totally_ ,” Porthos agrees, dimpling down at him, the very picture of contagious delight.

Athos has no idea what to do with the light growing inside his chest at the sight. He might just have to tell them he loves them over and over again, until he feels it is enough. That may take him quite a while.


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos rubs his thumb over the back of Athos’ hand, bends down to press a kiss to it. His lips are warm and soft on Athos’ skin, and there’s something so tender in the gesture that it sends a warm shiver all the way to Athos’ core.

The warmth stays with him when Porthos straightens to kneel between Aramis legs once more, and Athos watches with a kind of detached approval how he idly strokes his palms over Aramis’ calves. The gesture is just as tender as the kiss to Athos’ hand was - maybe even more so, because there’s not even a hint of intent about it. Porthos caresses Aramis because he can, because there’s no reason not to. Because that’s who he is.

“What now, kitten?” he asks Aramis in a low voice, tilts his head in an almost playful manner. Sadly, Aramis isn’t paying any attention to him. Instead of replying or even looking at Porthos, Aramis keeps holding on to Athos’ hand, gazes at him out of hazy eyes. Athos is just as lost in him as he appears to be in Athos, and when he licks his lips, Athos unconsciously mirrors the gesture. Aramis’ breath hitches at the sight, and Athos swallows dryly, has no idea what to do.

He doesn’t want to let go of Aramis’ hand, doesn’t want to look away and break the spell … but he doesn’t want Porthos to stop what he’s doing either. Aramis is so very appealing when Porthos is pleasuring him. As if he could read his mind, Porthos huffs, and presses a practical finger to Aramis’ hole. “You can look at Athos all you wanna, darlin’, but you still have to answer me.”

Aramis moans and bucks his hips, and Athos quickly turns his head to look at Porthos, almost contrite. “I did not mean -”

Porthos grins at him. “Aw hush, love, it’s all good - look at him, he’s practically glowin’ with happiness.”

Aramis certainly does look rather pleased with his attention being sought like this. His eyes are fixed on Porthos now, and he’s spreading his legs in a rather inviting manner.

“Want me inside, do you?” Porthos murmurs, his mouth tilting upwards at the corners, and Aramis nods, arches his back.

“Yes, please, I want that.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down Athos’ back. It is not quite begging, but there’s a pleading note to Aramis’ voice, a sense of submission. The roles in this bedroom are indisputably assigned: Porthos will give Aramis anything he asks for, will take care of his every need, and in return Aramis will surrender himself to him, will do as he’s told. It is a demonstration of the trust between the two of them, and Athos feels privileged to witness it.

“And do you wanna look at Athos while I open you up - or do you want him to get a good look at what I’m doin’ to you?” Porthos asks then, sending a hot spike of lust all the way down Athos’ spine. The very idea of watching Aramis being opened, of seeing him being prepared - it appeals to Athos. Very much indeed. He never thought it would, and he has no idea why it does, but then again Athos never thought he would end up with two lovers, so there’s no sense in wondering. The level of his arousal makes it difficult to think anyway. Porthos seems to notice, looks at him from the corner of his eye and winks, and it’s all Athos can do not to reach between his legs and take care of himself right then and there.

He is so _affected_ by the way they treat each other, more than he’s ever been by anything else. It really is no wonder he could never feel good with his previous partners - his sexuality appears to require a special kind of attention, a certain kind of circumstance … a very certain kind of participants.

“I … I want him to see,” Aramis whispers, blushing beautifully, all the way down his chest. “If he … if he doesn’t mind.”

How Athos manages to reply to that without combusting on the spot he has no idea. “I do not mind at all, Aramis.”

“Naughty,” Porthos comments in a low voice. “I like that.”

He teases Aramis’ hole once more, traces the rim with one gentle fingertip, and Aramis moans, clenches and bites his lip.

Porthos chuckles. “This is gonna be so good, kitten. You’re gonna make Athos all dizzy.”

Athos doesn’t bother disputing that fact. Instead he changes his position on the bed, folds his legs in front of him and puts his hands on his thighs, very deliberately. Porthos’ eyes start to twinkle when Athos stops moving; he obviously sees right through Athos’ effort to keep his hands away from his cock, but doesn’t comment on it. Athos gives him a look of silent gratitude, and Porthos winks at him again - then he bends over Aramis and presses a kiss to his belly. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Aramis replies, his voice a little breathy.

“Alrighty then.” Porthos moves out from between Aramis’ legs and off the bed, crosses the room to his chest of drawers … one drawer in particular, the one Athos knows far more about than he used to feel comfortable with.

Now he holds his breath when he watches Porthos pull it open, is almost disappointed when all Porthos comes back with is a bottle of chocolate flavoured lube. Again Porthos reads him like an open book, and he grins, dark and promising and dirty - tells Athos with just one look that he won’t forget this, that he’ll fulfill this wish of Athos’ sooner rather than later. He gets back on the bed, settles down at Aramis’ right side, once more positioning himself so Athos has the best view on the proceedings. Apart from that he doesn’t pay Athos any special kind of attention. His eyes are on Aramis, take in the way he’s lying stretched out on the bed, completely relaxed, visibly aroused.

“You look happy,” he tells Aramis, and his voice is so very fond, draws an immediate response from Athos’ heart rate.

“I am,” Aramis whispers, and his eyes are on Porthos, like Porthos’ eyes are on him. He watches Porthos lie down next to him on the bed, and then he turns on his side as well, away from Athos, presses into Porthos with his whole body.

Porthos immediately puts his arm around him, puts his hand on the small of Aramis’ back to hold him close. The picture burns itself to Athos’ mind, the way they frame each other, so perfect in each other’s arms. Athos knows what it is he will be painting next - knows that he will not stop until he gets it absolutely right.

“Time to show you off to Athos, eh?” Porthos murmurs, his fingers drawing circles on Aramis’ glowing skin.

Aramis shivers and nods, presses closer to him … opens his legs. It is such a simple gesture, but to Athos it means so much. They let him be a part of their relationship from the very beginning, and now they’re letting him be a part of this, too.


	7. Chapter 7

Porthos’ hand lies still on the small of Aramis’ back. His touch looks both possessive and protective to Athos, and for a brief moment he wonders if Porthos’ feelings for Aramis might resemble his own - that fierce sense of belonging mingled with so much affection and devotion that you hardly know how to contain it within yourself.

Then Porthos moves his hand and the idea evaporates, like mist in sunlight. To concentrate on matters of philosophy while Porthos prompts Aramis to hook his leg over Porthos’ hip is rather beyond Athos. The new position offers an unexpectedly brilliant view, and Athos has to bite his lip to keep himself from making any sound or comment. It’s not that he wants to talk dirty to Aramis, but part of Athos does want to tell Aramis how he looks - how he makes Athos feel.

But to distract Aramis now when Porthos is about to make him his own would be an audacity of the highest order, so Athos forgoes that desire, and keeps perfectly still. His reward presents itself right away. The silence in the room enables him to hear every single sound Aramis makes - allows him to hear the helpless little noise when Porthos strokes his finger along Aramis’ cleft and down to his balls, the eager intake of air when Porthos finally opens the bottle of lube.

“Impatient, are we?” Porthos teases him in a low voice, almost too soft for Athos to hear.

It’s obvious that Porthos isn’t putting on a show for Athos - that he’d be treating Aramis precisely the same if Athos weren’t watching them. Athos is no spectator, he’s private to an inherently intimate moment, is _part_ of that moment. Still he shivers when Porthos suddenly looks at him, because despite everything Athos did not expect Porthos to pay any special attention to him. Nevertheless Porthos’ eyes are smiling at Athos as he keeps talking to Aramis, and his voice holds that uniquely soft quality it only has in the bedroom. “Relax for me, will you, kitten.”

He coats his finger with lube, gives it a moment to warm on his skin, and then he circles Aramis’ rim with his fingertip, once, twice, before pushing in. Aramis yields readily to the intrusion, goes all soft and pliant against Porthos’ body, and Athos has to claw his fingers into his thighs to keep himself from making a noise - to keep himself from coming.

“You’re both so much more naughty than I thought you were,” Porthos comments with a little grin, pushing his finger deeper inside Aramis with little circling motions. “You’re a proper little exbitionist, aren’t you, kitten? And as far as I can tell Athos _really_ likes what he’s seein’.”

The mention of Athos’ name makes Aramis moan and clench around Porthos’ finger, and Porthos chuckles, brushes a kiss to Aramis’ cheek. “No wonder, pretty as you are.”

He smiles at Athos, doesn’t tease him for his obvious enjoyment, but shares a moment of quiet understanding with him. It’s not what Athos expected - although it’s difficult to say what those expectations might have been. Porthos has always defied any and all assumptions people might have had about him. Athos should have known that he would be unexpected in this as well - that he would be just as good to him as he always is to Aramis.

Athos watches Porthos press another kiss to Aramis’ cheek, and then his gaze travels downward, quite automatically … down to where Porthos’ finger has pushed into Aramis to the second knuckle. Aramis is twitching against him, not so much moaning as breathing erratically, and Athos wonders if he’s always like this; if he’s this sensitive even when no-one is watching. Athos can only assume that he is. Porthos at least shows no surprise at Aramis’ behavior; he continues his preparations slowly and methodically, adds a second finger to the one already inside Aramis, praises Aramis for being wonderfully relaxed.

“You’re all soft inside,” he whispers, making the hair on Athos’ arms stand up. “Can’t wait to fill you up properly and get inside you where it’s so nice and hot.”

Aramis whimpers, and Athos very nearly does the same.

Porthos smiles. “Will have to do it soon, too - or Athos might just finish without us; and we can’t have that, kitten - can we?”

Aramis trembles and presses a kiss to Porthos’ throat, licks over the love bite he left on him earlier. It makes Porthos close his eyes and go completely still for a moment, and Athos marvels at his control. It is barely noticeable how very aroused Porthos is; it’s only hinted at in the way he holds himself, in the tension in his muscles. Even now it only takes him a heartbeat or two to regain his equilibrium. He re-opens his eyes and presses his mouth to Aramis’, licks inside and muffles the moan falling over Aramis’ lips when he pushes a third finger inside of him.

His limited experience tells Athos how amazing that stretch must feel, and he can barely look at the point where Porthos’ fingers are pushing into Aramis’ ass without his cock twitching in response. Athos has no memory of ever being as aroused as this before - cannot remember ever feeling like this.

“Just a little more,” he hears Porthos say in a husky voice, and when Athos looks at him his lips are slick and red from kissing Aramis. “You’re almost ready for me, darlin’.”

Aramis moans and licks over his skin again, pushes his ass back and starts to move his hips. This blatant display of his arousal makes Athos go hot all over - very nearly makes him come.

“Easy now,” Porthos murmurs. He doesn’t try to stop Aramis from moving, doesn’t tell him to lie still - instead he allows Aramis to fuck himself on his fingers for a while. When Athos notices that Porthos is looking straight at him while Aramis is driving himself insane in this manner, eyes dark and appreciative, the realization does nothing for his composure. He flushes to the roots of his hair, his whole body suddenly so very sensitive that he cannot even endure the feeling of his hands on his thighs anymore; he has to change position again, has to grab the sheets and hold on to them instead. Porthos’ mouth pulls into a grin when he sees, and he pulls his fingers out of Aramis - makes Aramis whine in helpless protest.

“Shht, I know, darlin’ - I know,” Porthos soothes him, pushing Aramis onto his back with gentle determination. “But you have to take a look at Athos. Really, you have to. Plus, you’re all ready for me … and we wouldn’t want to waste any time, now would we?”

Aramis promptly gasps and turns his head on the cushion to stare at Athos in the most greedy manner imaginable. His legs fall open when he takes Athos in, and his cock twitches, leaves smears of precome on his belly.

He’s flushed all over, looks feverish and sweaty and absolutely beautiful, and Athos has no idea what to do with himself.

Porthos grins a little wider than before, looks into Athos’ eyes. “I think you can touch yourself now, love,” he purrs. “Wouldn’t want to give you an aneurysm.”


	8. Chapter 8

Aramis lies spread out on the sheets, legs open, completely relaxed but for his straining cock. His hair’s a tangled mess of glossy black, and his hands lie next to his head on the cushion - ready to be grasped and held down. All his attention is on Athos, eyes dark and hazy, and when he wets his lips Athos does the same, finds it impossible not to.

“I mean it,” he hears Porthos say - sees Porthos move from the corner of his eye. Athos somehow manages to transfer his gaze from Aramis to him - takes in the way he holds himself, completely unconcerned with his own nakedness. It’s seductive in its own way.

“Take care of yourself, love,” Porthos tells him, positioning himself in the space between Aramis’ legs as if he belongs there. “Aramis and I always need a while to finish, and we wouldn’t want you to faint before we get there.”

He reaches out to stroke a soothing hand over Aramis’ left thigh. “Isn’t that right, kitten?”

Aramis shifts ever so slightly under his touch, turns his head to look up at him. “Maybe he doesn’t want us to watch?”

“Maybe,” Porthos muses, pouting thoughtfully. “Is that it, love?” he asks Athos, still gazing down at Aramis. “Do you want us to mind our own business while you take matters in hand?”

His voice is low and careful, and Athos experiences some difficulty finding his own - finding the words to tell them what it is he wants. They feel so far away, all of a sudden, looking at each other as if there was no-one else in the world. It makes Athos feel lost, and he takes an unsteady breath, his fingers tense in the sheets. “Look at me, please.”

They turn their heads as one, and Athos trembles, did obviously not think this through. Where Aramis’ eyes remain dark and hazy, Porthos’ gaze is wide awake. His arousal does not dim his faculties, doesn’t make him softer or render him weak. He looks at Athos the way he always does, the way he always _has_ , and Athos realizes that he would do anything for him - anything at all. There’s a smile in Porthos’ eyes Athos feels himself surrendering to, a smile that warms his skin and touches his heart, and when Porthos tilts his head and allows that smile to take over his features something in Athos starts to slip.

“Tell me,” he hears himself say - doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Tell me how, please.”

Surprise briefly passes over Porthos’ face, and then his smile deepens, renders Athos absolutely helpless with devotion. “Ah, I think Aramis needs to sit up for that first, yeah?”

So Athos waits while Porthos helps Aramis into a sitting position at the foot of the bed, with Porthos behind him to hold him upright. They present a charming picture like that, and Athos would get lost in it if it wasn’t for Porthos asking him to make himself comfortable opposite from them.

“Lean back against the headboard, love,” Porthos murmurs, his chin resting on Aramis’ shoulder, his arms circling Aramis’ torso. “Put that cushion behind your back and spread your legs.”

The instructions are easy enough to follow, and once Athos is in position he doesn’t even feel all that exposed. He knows that he is, knows from the glitter in Aramis’ eyes that he must look both indecent and alluring like this - but he feels safe. He’s warm and drunk with lust, and Porthos’ presence wraps him in a cocoon of trust. All he can think about is the desire to reach his climax … to have them watch.

“Lookin’ very good,” Porthos murmurs, approval thick in his voice. His gaze drops to where the bottle of lube is lying right by Athos’ hand on the mattress, and he grins gleefully. “Look at that. Why don’t you get a little bit of chocolate on your cock, eh? Just to make Aramis’ mouth water.”

Aramis gasps at the suggestion, and Athos blindly gropes for the bottle, unable to tear his gaze away from them. His fingers find the plastic receptacle and grasp it, and Porthos makes a pleased noise, strokes his hand over Aramis’ belly and kisses his shoulder. “Be generous with it, love - but wait for it to warm in your hand first. We don’t want to put a dampener on proceedings.”

Athos nods and opens the bottle, pours some of its contents into his palm. The smell of chocolate fills his senses, and part of him realizes that it will be forever linked to this moment now - that he won’t be able to have chocolate and not think of this ever again.

“That should do it,” Porthos says, idly teasing Aramis’ left nipple. “Touch yourself now, love - nice and easy.”

So Athos puts his hand on his cock, very nearly comes at the first light contact. Porthos’ chuckle penetrates the heady mist suddenly overlaying his senses, and Athos moans, arches his back. The lube feels warm and slippery on his cock, and the knowledge that they are watching him - are watching him come undone right in front of them makes it utterly impossible to stop. He moves his hand to spread the lube, strokes it down to his balls and briefly touches his rim - makes Aramis moan and shudder in Porthos’ arms.

“You’re very good at this, love,” Porthos whispers, sounding rough, maybe even a little overwhelmed.

Athos looks into his eyes while he moves his hand on his cock, up and down, again and again. All it needs is a few pulls and he comes - all over his slippery fist, his belly. He moans when his climax overcomes him, wide-eyed and helpless. He stares at Porthos while his breath stutters out of him in tandem with his release, loses himself in eyes he’s known almost all his life.

 

When Athos regains his higher brain functions Aramis is straining in Porthos’ arms, visibly eager to touch him. Porthos is holding him back, is murmuring soothing words of reason into his ears, and it takes Athos a moment before he realizes that Porthos is protecting him from a touch he doesn’t know is wanted.

“Let him,” he whispers, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “It is alright, Porthos - let him.”

So Porthos lets go of Aramis and helps him cross the mattress to Athos, deposits him between Athos’ still spread legs.

“That was wonderful,” Porthos whispers to Athos, settling down next to him at the head of the bed. “You make a pretty face when you come.”

He sounds unbearably tender, and Athos cannot resist him when he leans in for a kiss. He’s sensitive and shivery after his climax, moans into Porthos’ mouth when he feels Aramis’ hand on his thigh. Aramis’ touch is timid but greedy, leaves goose-bumps in its wake as it roams Athos’ hot skin. It feels blissful to be kissed and touched like this, draws out the afterglow of Athos’ orgasm and spins it into a golden haze of joy.

Porthos’ mouth feels hot against his own, and Athos can’t get enough of his taste, lifts his arms to loop them around Porthos’ neck and keep him close. In answer to this silent plea Porthos stays where he is - stays close to Athos and kisses him until Athos no longer feels as if he’s drowning in pleasure. It’s him who breaks the kiss, who pulls back from it so he can look at Porthos, his fingers gently stroking through Porthos’ curls. For a moment all he does is gaze at Porthos, at his eyes and his dimples, at the way his mouth looks right after their kiss.

The sensation in Athos’ chest that comes with looking at Porthos is almost painful, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Aramis is still touching him, is still exploring his cooling skin, and Athos can feel his eyes on them just as he can feel his hands. Both feels warm, affectionate and almost reverential, and when Athos finally lets go of Porthos to pull Aramis in, he comes willingly. Athos kisses him, the way he kissed Porthos, licks into Aramis’ mouth and gives himself over to him.

Aramis presses into his arms and moans, all need … craving to be touched. It reminds Athos that both he and Porthos still need to find completion, and he releases Aramis, smiles at him and brushes his messy hair away from his face. “It is time to finally allow Porthos to have his way with you, is it not?”

Aramis closes his eyes for a moment, goes boneless against Athos. “Yes, please, I want that.”

The desperate urgency in his voice makes Athos look at Porthos, and he finds a somewhat naughty grin on his face, coupled with amused patience. “I’d like that, too.”

Athos has to clear his throat before he can muster a reply. “Then by all means, go ahead. I was promised something to watch, after all.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You hear that, kitten?” Porthos murmurs, his voice dropping into that dangerous register that bodes illicit pleasures for its recipient. “Athos demands a performance.”

The naughty lilt to his words makes Athos huff in fond amusement, and he moves a little to the side - clears the scene for Aramis so he can stretch out comfortably. “I am demanding nothing of the sort.” He leans in, presses a kiss to Aramis’ cheek, whispers into his ear. “Just enjoy yourself, please.”

Aramis turns his head to nuzzle at Athos’ neck, brushes a succession of fluttering kisses to his sensitive skin. “I will. I always … I always do.”

The words have an ominous ring, as if there was something wrong with the fact that Aramis enjoys sex. Athos watches him with some perplexity as he settles down next to him - watches Aramis lie down and rest his head on a pillow. Then he looks up, meets Porthos’ gaze, finds the same concern mirrored in his eyes.

Athos frowns. “If you would prefer me to leave, Aramis, all you have to do -”

“No!” Aramis blurts the word with all the haste of honest dismay. “No, stay, please - I want you to stay,” he stammers. “It’s just that I - that you never … that you don’t _know_ -”

Athos watches him flush, distressed and miserable, and he exchanges another glance with Porthos … remembers how fragile Aramis was when he went back to his home town for the first time. How afraid of what people _said_ , of what they thought about him. “But … I do know,” he says slowly.

Aramis’ head jerks up and he stares at him, something far too close to fear in his eyes. “You do?”

“I think I do,” Athos amends, still frowning. “That is if you are referring to your charming inability to contain yourself while being pleasured.”

This time Aramis’ blush has a wholly different quality, and Athos watches Porthos close his eyes, watches him go very still as his dimples take over his cheeks. “Only you,” Porthos murmurs, “could ever say it like that.”

It’s Athos’ turn to blush, but he doesn’t allow that to stop himself from continuing. “I have heard you many times,” he says resolutely, sees Aramis’ eyes glaze over at the admission. “And while it did not always arouse me, it was always … it was nice, Aramis. To hear your pleasure made me happy.”

Aramis’ eyes are by now all black, there’s no sign of fear or discomfort left in them, and when Athos reaches out to cup his cheek, Aramis leans into the touch, allows his lids to droop.

“You need not be afraid of enjoying yourself to the fullest in front of me,” Athos tells him, swiping his thumb over Aramis’ bottom lip in substitution of a kiss. “I have never begrudged you your satisfaction.”

Aramis lets out a helpless little moan at that, pushes out his tongue and licks over the tip of Athos’ thumb. Next to him Porthos lets out a harsh breath. “I really need to get inside him now.”

Aramis whimpers and spreads his legs, and Athos shivers, pulls back his hand. “By all means.”

Porthos moves swiftly then, positions himself between Aramis’ legs, and when Athos gets a good look at his cock he can only marvel at Porthos’ self-control.

“You should have said you were … uncomfortable,” Athos murmurs, handing him the lube.

Porthos accepts it with a look of confusion. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

Athos’ eyes drop to his cock again, take in the straining hardness, leaking profusely, and he makes an involuntary noise of awe. “You’re not?”

Porthos’ smile, when Athos looks back up at him, is teasing. “What, you think I can’t handle a bit of waitin’ - I’m a patient man.”

He coats his cock in lube while speaking, and Aramis moans, his gaze fixed on the movement of Porthos’ fingers. He appears to be beyond reason now, is pure need, pure longing, so Athos refrains from answering Porthos and distracting him further. Instead he takes the lube back, closes the bottle and puts it to the side, while Porthos orders Aramis to lift his hips and places a cushion under his ass.

“You good?” he asks Aramis, gently probing his hole with one careful finger, and Aramis nods, offers himself.

“I want you,” Athos hears him whisper.

It’s all the invitation, all the consent Porthos needs. He lines himself up and pushes in, so slowly, turns Aramis into a breathless, whimpering mess right away.

Aramis’ legs are wide open, his hands are lying on the cushion next to his head, useless. He looks utterly helpless, completely given over to lust, and Athos cannot decide where to rest his eyes - on the very picture of seduction that is Aramis, or on Porthos. Porthos is taking slow, deliberate breaths, but his eyes show the effort it takes to control himself … to take Aramis inch by inch instead of shoving all the way inside, all at once. Aramis urging him on cannot be of help, his little whimpers and moans, the greedy pleas to give him more, faster, deeper, _please_.

And then Porthos is in, has pushed inside Aramis as deep as he possibly could, and stops moving. Aramis gasps and arches his back, closes his eyes. His legs come up and close behind Porthos’ back, hold him in as he tries to get used to the sensation of having Porthos all the way inside.

After a while Porthos moves, just once, sharp and quick, and Aramis groans, reaches up to grab the headboard.

“Yes,” he moans, his voice broken, “yes, please - _please_ like that.”

“Want it hard, do you?” Porthos whispers, leaning forward. He looks like a fiend to Athos, suddenly, something dark and dangerous and wonderful, utterly irresistible.

“Yes,” Aramis moans, opening his eyes to drown in the hungry gaze Porthos is levelling at him. “Yes, I want it hard, please, please fuck me hard, I need -”

His plea ends in a yelp when Porthos starts to move in earnest, when his hips snap forward, again and again, uncompromising.

The ferocity of it makes Aramis’ cock bounce, and Athos watches it leak more and more precome onto his belly, cannot begin to understand how it must feel to be under Porthos like this. Just watching it happen makes him feel dizzy - to see Porthos’ strength focussed in this way, not doubting for one second that every move, every thrust, is still under perfect control. Porthos is letting himself go, yes, but only a little. His eyes are still tender, underneath the possessiveness, are gazing down at Aramis in wide-eyed awareness, prepared to stop at the first sign of distress or discomfort.

None comes. Aramis’ voice breaks again and again over moaned encouragement; he keeps begging for more, tells Porthos how good it feels, how much he needs him, that he doesn’t want it to end.

And then Porthos’ hips start to stutter, and his thrusts slow, and he takes a deep breath - and another one. “Mhm, that was good.”

He’s not done, hasn’t come, but he leans forward, brushes a stray lock of hair off Aramis’ sweaty forehead. “Lemme go slow for a bit now, yeah?”

Aramis nods, moans eagerly when Porthos leans in deeper - deep enough to kiss him. Athos can see him tighten around Porthos’ cock, sees a shiver run down Porthos’ back, and wishes he knew what to do with his hands … what to do with himself. Their kiss is slow and sensuous, like the way Porthos is pushing into Aramis now, almost painfully soft. Aramis is moving under Porthos, is pushing back against his thrusts, ever so slightly; his arms are around Porthos’ neck, are holding on to him with everything he has; and they are so obviously one, so obviously in love with each other that it makes Athos’ chest feel too small to contain his heart.

Then Porthos breaks their kiss, straightens to smile down at Aramis, strokes a teasing hand over his chest and down to his belly, makes Aramis take a fluttering breath. “Want me to make you come now, darlin’?”

Aramis licks his lips and nods, looks up at him through his lashes. “Please do.”

Porthos nods and closes his hand around Aramis’ cock, angles his hips and thrusts into him with hard, precise movements.

Aramis shudders and grabs the headboard again, lets himself fall.

He’s flushed all over, shining with sweat, and Athos cannot stop staring at them, at the way they are making this so good for each other.

Aramis comes with a drawn out moan, whimpers Porthos’ name and clenches around him tight enough to force a groan out of Porthos - to send him over the edge in turn. Athos’ cock twitches with interest at the sight. 

They go still then for a long moment, in an effort to catch their breath. Porthos remains inside Aramis, his hands on Aramis’ thighs, idly stroking up and down, a content smile hiding in the corners of his mouth. Aramis lies on his back as one dead, utterly exhausted.

Of course Porthos is the first to move - pulls back and gets the tissues, wipes the worst of the mess off Aramis and pulls the cushion out from underneath him before he collapses at his side and pulls him close. Aramis settles into his arms with a sigh, soft and needy after his orgasm, completely blissed out. Finally, Athos knows what to do with his hands - what to do with himself. He moves over the mattress and lies down on his side behind Aramis, puts his arm around him. Aramis makes a happy little noise and presses back into him, and Athos is overcome by a sense of peacefulness so strong that it very nearly makes him cry.

“You both good?” Porthos asks in a drowsy voice, and Athos makes a noise of confirmation, presses his face into Aramis’ warm skin.

Porthos’ hand comes to rest on his shoulder then, and his thumb brushes back and forth over a collection of freckles as he looks into Athos’ eyes, tired and happy. “You liked your first taste of our depravity, yeah?”

“Very much,” Athos says softly.

Between them, Aramis makes a helpless sound of affection.

“I’m not gonna put clean sheets on the bed,” Porthos says then, matter of fact.

A snort of sudden mirth escapes Athos. “I do not expect you to.”

Porthos does, however, get up and go to the bathroom. He returns with two warm towels, one wet and one dry, cleans them all up as best he can, throws the towels on the floor, and collapses back onto the mattress.

“I’m done for,” he announces, burrowing into Aramis, sneaking his hand onto Athos’ hip this time. “Wake me when breakfast is ready.”

Athos watches him fall asleep, watches his face relax and set into a smile. He’s feeling the pull of satisfied exhaustion as well, is barely awake anymore when Aramis’ voice penetrates the silence. “I love you.”

Athos closes his eyes and kisses the back of Aramis’ neck, strokes his hand over Aramis’ belly. “I love you, too.”

Only then does he allow himself to surrender to sleep as well.


End file.
